


Caves and Critters

by LadyTroll



Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [10]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band), Original Work
Genre: (somewhat) good Zargothrax, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Goblins, Morally Grey Character, Roleswap, look I cannot for the love of my life write that guy as good okay???, reversed Gloryhammer, so he gets to be morally grey. possibly even an anti-hero, the regular GH disclaimer applies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: Famed resistance not what local wizard expected. More in the news at 8 o'clock.
Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540978
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Caves and Critters

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be two parts, but I couldn't string one of them together, so I mashed them both up. The parts in italics are memories/took place earlier.

If Zargothrax had to describe his life at the moment when he woke up that morning, he would have most likely chosen to say that it had turned into a monotonous white noise.

There was absolutely nothing new, in terms of his plans and their fulfilment.

And nothing new in general.

If one did not count the fact that, over the time period just shy of one year, the Kingdom of Fife with Prince Angus and his allies in charge of it had begun expanding into every direction known to man. Not that Zargothrax cared. Much. It was hardly his business what powerful people imagining themselves gods over the regular folk wanted out of life. At the very end, they would still die, and he would only be happy to help them along.

Other than that? Nothing.

Of course, he was still free and remained in hiding almost a year since Auchtermuchty – and that was the problem, for it also meant that he had not moved even a step closer to his initial goal, which was to have Angus McFife, Ser Proletius of the Knights of Crail, and the Hootsman in front of him, preferably dead, preferably so after they had been begging for mercy for a while. 

His hosts’ ideas of what could only be called “salting” the prince were… strange, to express things politely, and did not go along with Zargothrax’s own plans. Of course, the goblins were a force to point and send into whichever direction was necessary, and they would make for excellent battle fodder, but that was a thought he was determined not to entertain, regardless of how often it returned – and how convenient it would have been.

Not to understand him wrong: the goblins were truly a crafty, if a bit uncanny and curious race that spent most of their lives in deep caves or abandoned human settlements, but a lot of them, youngsters in particular, were also rather… poor, at planning for long-term future that did not involve their next meal.

A meal, however, was not what Zargothrax was concerned about – except, of course, when Ch’iale asked him to accompany her tribe’s gatherers and hunters, to make sure the fuzzy scatterbrains did not get themselves into trouble, or worse – killed.

Still, the goblins, at the very least, were honest about whether or not they hated another clan, or a tribe, and did not want to work together with them, instead of waiting until they were standing in the same line, to turn against their nemesis,

During the year, Zargothrax had met a few groups of the famed rebellion (famed mostly among themselves, for he could hardly imagine anyone else would), however, they were disorganized, at best, and at odds with each other, at worst. A lot of them seemed dead set on making the lives miserable for each other, waging their own little civil wars among their ranks and with other groups. How they hoped to take the crown from Angus and Iona, while they kept infighting, was a mystery that the wizard did not take upon himself to unravel.

In fact, the forces – or the pack, rather, for Zargothrax found himself incapable of referring to them differently after the first few visits – of what only barely passed as a rebellion, were something so uncanny that one would first have to be explained that these were, indeed, the Famous Forces of Rebellion (or “Justice”, as they, being so humble about themselves, called it).

***

_One always imagined something great and noble, when they heard of the resistance with the goal to overthrow the evil overlord, be they a dark wizard, or a king gone mad with power. One imagined masterfully crafted networks of information. One imagined spies and negotiators sent out on dangerous missions to find allies in a forsaken land. Daredevil operations being pulled off right under the nose of the evildoer’s best henchmen. Men and women flirting with death and coming out as the winners daily. Secret meetings on the contacts’ farms behind locked shutters in the dead of the night._

_One grew up with those kinds of stories, either told around a fire, or written in a book and greedily devoured long past bedtime. The Resistance, the Freedom Fighters, the Forces of Justice, the ones that were going to liberate the land from the evildoer. Noble people with noble goals who bonded together for the greater good, embraced by shining, golden aura, pure in their thoughts and deeds._

_The cave system reeked of every possible foul substance in the existence, and the clutter and hostile glares of people gazing from the side caves did not do their part in persuading any newcomers that this was, in any way, a place that would welcome them with open arms. Rather, they were just another burden. An unwanted side-effect of being part of the resistance. Previously having served as a mining site, there was little left of the caves’ former glory (if there had ever been one, to begin with), save for a few chunks of ore in the walls, too small to have been deemed important by the miners. The tunnels were cluttered with stones and boxes, and sacks, and any other possible items a group of humans could consider important enough to drag along, and if one did not look carefully where they set their step, they risked anything from bumps to broken bones._

_The three goblins Ch’iale had appointed to accompany Zargothrax on this journey held close by, their natural curiosity muffled as soon as they had entered the tunnels and seen just how different everything was from the accustomed life back home. Back in the former dwarven, now goblin, settlement, everything was clean, if a bit dusty at times, and most of the water was in the underground river, not dripping from the ceiling at regular intervals, and the folk might be mischievous and mistrusting at times, but there was no hostility there._

_The faerie would feel right at home in this place, Zargothrax concluded. Everything about them practically screamed chaos and hostility, and no kind words or benevolent looks of theirs could change that._

_One of his companions leant over the side of the walkway spiralling around the large cave at the bottom of which there stood a few huts and tables, and what looked like a small animal pen with a pig inside, and the wizard only managed to catch the goblin by the scruff seconds before the creature plummeted to her death. The goblin squealed, as she dangled in his grip, before Zargothrax set her back onto the walkway._

_\- Don’t do that! I’m not explaining Ch’iale how you fell to your death!_

_Just as the path downwards had been twisty, the one they were introduced to as the leader of the rebellion was as simple and straightforward as a brick, and, if he were placed next to one such item, Zargothrax suspected there would have been no great difference. He stared the newcomers down with an apathetic look on his face, before announcing, in just as apathetic, monotonous voice, that the group was always glad about new people joining, and that he hoped they would find the place to their liking. Zargothrax, on his turn, did not hurry to declare that he had already seen was were probably three separate rebellion outposts (which, in itself, already spoke of just how coordinated these people were), and that this was possibly not the last one he visited, just like he was not in a great hurry to announce his true identity to the world, sticking to the well-rehearsed legend of a peasant having lost everything at the hands of the prince, or, rather, his barbarian ally._

_Which was not as great of a lie, when he thought about it. He really did lose everything, including his family who, while still alive and (hopefully) thriving, were better off thinking him dead, for he had seen with his own eyes that McFife and his dogs were not above hurting the innocent if only the prince thought it was going to help him achieve his goals – and one of the prince’s goals was, to this day, to get his hands on that one pesky wizard who had dared escape Auchtermuchty._

_Of course, had the famed leader of the resistance known who was standing in front of him at that moment, he might have reacted differently. As such, the only knowledge he had was that there was some guy who had somehow won the favour of some goblins, and he preferred not to ask exactly how that had happened, and reacted just like he should have – with an unenthusiastic shrug and a bored “welcome to the resistance”, before waving Zargothrax away like he was a mere servant._

\--

_They did end up getting a tour around the place, if only as a formality, even though it did very little in terms of improving the first impressions. What these people so proudly called their camp was still filthy and disgusting, and nothing like the goblin settlement. Where the goblins had clean routes, these people had mud and dirt, and where the goblins had neat, if old, furniture and other items of necessity, the rebels had boxes that had begun rotting as soon as they had been carried inside the damp caves, and their blankets and rugs were mouldy and stained and sported more holes than it was polite to have in items that were supposed to keep one warm during winter. Just like their belongings, the people were also dirty, the faces that stared at the strangers from various tunnels and alcoves grimy, as though water and soap were a luxury around here._

_In the large cave, across from the pig pen, there were a few men training, their skills with weapons probably the only thing reminiscent of some sort of professionality around here, and even in that case they were far from the kind of skillset that the knights pitted against them in case of an open battle would have._

_\- Where do you get supplies?_

_The guide snorted._

_\- Everywhere we can. Villages. Towns. Been to Dundee, once or twice, and those stupid bastards didn’t notice a thing._

_One of the goblins tugged at the wizard’s cloak, and Zargothrax batted her hand away, letting the creature know he realized full well what that could mean, without anyone explaining it to him._

_The goblin, however, tugged at his cloak again, and the wizard finally turned to look at her, hoping that his appearance alone was going to be enough to convey the message as to what might happen if the creature kept bothering him_

_\- What?!_

_The snarl incorporated as much anger as it was polite in these circumstances._

_\- Hozzat? – Ever the oblivious, the goblin female pointed at a man standing apart from the rest._

_He was standing, rested, with crossed arms, against the twig-and-board fence that separated the training range from the rest of the cave, and watching the few soldiers inside with politely faked interest. His face was just as grimy as everybody else’s here, his ashen hair was slicked back as though he had used glue to keep it in place, and, when he yawned, he revealed a missing canine on the left side. He wore a dirty armour that had possibly been steel and had definitely seen better times, which had possibly taken place before Zargothrax had even been born, and the sword by his side had had many battles gradually chip away from its hilt. When he turned to look at the newcomers and their guide, he forced a sweet, theatrical smile on his face that, in different circumstances, could have charmed the worst quarreller. In here, however, it made the creeps run down one’s back, and it felt as out of place as a precious golden ring would be, in a pile of old dishrags._

_He left the impression of a slick eel._

_\- I don’t know, - the wizard shrugged, before asking the same question to their guide._

_\- Oh, that? – The boy scratched behind ear. – I don’t really know. He’s some old knight, says their order doesn’t sit well with this whole shit going on in Dundee. They joined us recently, a whole group of them! Not the Knights of Crail, exactly, but good anyway. If nothing else, boss says they’ll be good battle fodder._

_\- Greetings!_

_The knight had left the fence while they spoke and was now standing in front of the small group. Up close, he had an even more disconcerting air about him, but the reason for that stubbornly evaded the wizard._

_\- It is always nice to see people rally to a good cause, no? Allow me to welcome you to this humble home of justice!_

_\- I… - Zargothrax made a step back, otherwise the knight would have been all up in his face, and felt the goblin tug at his robes again, - thank you, but I wouldn’t be extending welcomes just yet._

_\- Oh? Well, then I shall say, do as you see fit. Just make sure you feel no regret, later on. That’s what life is, no? Full of regrets, disappointments, and failures._

_\- I would say it is so, yes._

_There was something odd about this fellow, but Zargothrax could not quite point his finger at what exactly it was, and he eventually wrote it down to how everything in this place appeared like it had been pulled from a different reality where things were less than peachy (as if they were any better here, but that other reality was probably even worse off). The knight gave a short bow, as it was common in the upper layers of the society he must have belonged to, before betraying the kingdom, retreated to his original spot and became politely immersed in the soldiers’ training again._

\--

_Their guide was chatting of something irrelevant as they moved through the caves, headed along the spiralling path carved into the side of the cliff, which promised nothing but a fall and a harsh landing for anyone who ventured too close to the edge, on the behalf of the lack of any kind of fence or railing, for what had been there had most likely rotted away sometime between after the miners had left the place and before the resistance, on their turn, had moved in. The three goblins, to Zargothrax’s relief, were staying well away from a fall to their doom now, the creatures chatting among themselves, their pointy ears pressed to the sides of their head._

_\- You see eyes? – Zargothrax managed to filter out their conversation, from the rest of the noise there was surprisingly lot of, in the mines, and the voice of the boy whom the self-proclaimed leader had assigned to them as a guide and who clearly enjoyed talking without any regards to whether or not somebody was listening._

_\- Wassit ice?_

_\- Dinnit look like one._

_\- What are you three talking about, hm?_

_The goblins stared at the wizard, without a doubt having, for a moment, forgotten he was present as well, as the beasties tended to do when they became too immersed in their conversations._

_\- That guy don’ever, - one finally squeaked. – Knight. His eyes weird. Look like ice._

_\- Blue? Grey?_

_Most goblins had black eyes, and they would time and again wonder about why humans needed so many colours in theirs, and the occasional glow, characteristic to wizards everywhere, spellcasters and summoners in particular, time and again created genuine confusion. So much that, in the first months of his life among them, Zargothrax had made sure to put wards upon wards around the house and the room he slept in, lest he woke up to the curious critters trying to pry_ his _eyes out, to have a better look._

_\- Like dead fish have eye._

_\- Cloudy?_

_\- Ye! – The goblin’s ears stood up, and a large, toothy smile appeared on his face – the joy of being understood. – Is weird!_

_\- He’s probably ill, - Zargothrax tsked. – Wouldn’t be surprised; I don’t think they remember that soap exists, down here._

_As if confirming these accusations, their guide scratched his head, and the goblin closest to the boy jumped back, squealing something about bugs. The beastie bumped into his friends, and, together, they tumbled a few meters back down the slope._

_Zargothrax made a mental note not to get close enough to anyone in this place to catch whatever his companion had just referred to._

***

Zargothrax made a circle around the room, then another, and another one, and, at the end of it, he only knew that he had made three circles around the room, and that it had changed absolutely nothing.

Just like the summer spent, traipsing around in searches of any kind of allies. The only result he saw, after first looking for the rebel outposts as subtly as he could, then travelling to them, was that he could now walk greater distances, faster.

At this point, he would be thankful for a nest of rabbits.

Not to mention that, what hope had been there, in the neighbouring kings, had dissipated quickly, as they were turned into vassals of Dundee one after another, their defences ground to dust in sieges that had not even had the chance to begin in the first place. The few that were left by now had simply been lucky, for the weather turning for worse had forced the McFifes to recall their forces, as not even Prince Angus was mad enough to press forward when the nature itself appeared against him.

And, even if the remaining small kingdoms and city states would be ready to pick up the sword under the premise of a wizard supporting them, Zargothrax was all too well aware of his own situation, to entertain the thought.

Alas, wizards turning the course of the battle with one wave or their hand remained just fairy tales for little kids. Now even more so, as he witnessed, time and again, what became of the meetings of the prince’s men and those lone colleagues of his who had the gut – or who were insane enough – to stand against Dundee on their own. Whatever trick they had up their sleeve, the soldiers and knights had another, to pit against them, rendering whatever magic was thrown at them useless.

Almost a year after Auchtermuchty, when he thought the worst was already well behind his back, Zargothrax once again awoke at nights, screaming and in tears, as previous nightmares mixed with the images that were all too real in his memory now. Real enough for the young sorcerer to fear for his sanity at times.

Another circle.

***

_When prompted about the whereabouts of their leader, the guy at the entrance to the so-called headquarters had mumbled something about a “quest” and sent the wizard (still perceived as a peasant) and his companions into the general direction of what had, despite its current appearance, once been a proper meadow. Littered with boulders and piles of rubble from the times the mines were still actively worked, it was silent around them, and the goblins, being even the chatty folk, would have most likely used their chance for a traditional competition of the goblinoids (which, in its basics, run down to a contest of screeching loud enough so that anyone, the competitors included, would be left with ringing ears for the day), were they not required to pay attention to where they set their step._

_Despite that, the goblins appeared just as happy to finally be outside and far away from the mines as Zargothrax himself was, for the whole place made their skin crawl._

_\- Enough! – after two days spent in the mines, the sorcerer had decided, and his announcement had been met with cheers by all three beasties. – I feel like I’ll never be able to wash all that filth away. We’re leaving!_

_Which was all good and well – and also the reason they were now traipsing through the meadow-dumpster-whatever it had been, to the miners, for Zargothrax figured that leaving suddenly and disappearing without a trace would not sit well with people… this time. Especially if these folks already had to look over their shoulder every single time they were outside the protective caves, lest there be the king’s soldiers marching to meet them. Whether or not they would approve of him leaving was none of the wizard’s concern, for there had not yet been born a person who could change Zargothrax’s mind once it was set to something._

_\- Shouldn’t we already have found them? – the sorcerer wondered, to himself, but still loud enough for goblin ears to pick up._

_\- Maybe go fish._

_He had never been quite able to get used to it, flinching when the answer to his question yet came._

_Not that he would let anyone know._

_\- Fishing’s hardly a quest._

_\- What’s quest, then?_

_\- Probably not what they think it is. Let’s see, - Zargothrax pulled the spectacles that had, until now, been dangling around his neck, onto his eyes, before knocking on the ground with the staff once, the jewel fastened into the twisted branches fashioned into claws at the top of it lighting up. – Hm. A lizard. A rabbit. No,_ two _rabbits. Well, that’s nasty. Get a room, you two. In broad daylight, too! Sheesh! Rocks, and more rocks, and… yes, that’s them._

_The group of men was hidden from any curious onlooker’s eyes by large mounds of rubble and a lone standing stone that stood out like a sore thumb even in this kind of landscape. They lay on the ground, their eyes trained into the road, which twisted around a small hill and run close by the solemn landmark, as though expecting someone or something to emerge any moment now._

_\- They hunt! – One of the goblins pointed into the general direction the men were watching so keenly. – We do like that, too! Rabbit come from there! Then jump and catch. Good food. We go, yes?_

_\- I don’t think they’re hunting. – Zargothrax pulled the creature back by the scruff. – Be silent, all of you!_

\--

_The peasants were huddled together, staring at the group of armed men that had emerged from nowhere. One of the old man’s hands was on the hilt of a hunting knife behind his belt, and he was holding his wife close with the other, while their son sought through the cart, as frantically as he dared in these circumstances, for something he could use to defend his parents._

_\- Now, now, - the leader opened his arms, as he approached, - we wish you no ill will! Really! All we ask is that you share what you have, for a good cause! We’re not bad fellows! In fact, we want the same thing as you, peasants, do! Dundee needs new management, doesn’t it? And you get to contribute! Isn’t that grand, chums?_

_\- Please! – the older man spoke up. – This is to pay our taxes to the king! If we give it up, we’ll starve in the winter!_

_The leader of the rebellion winced._

_\- I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying, old man! – The smirk on his face did not forebode anything good. – You speak normally, to me! Is only polite so, no? You don’t make your guests talk in your gibberish, do you?_

_\- He’s saying we—_

_\- Shut up, you filthy peasant! Ain’t nobody here who wants translation from you! He can do it himself!_

_\- He’s saying you should hit the road, ye cunts! – the woman chimed in. – We can’t give you the grain! Crawl back into the hole you came from, and leave us alone!_

_\- You hear what this hag is saying? – The leader needed a moment, to snap out of surprise. – I think we ought to teach them some manne—_

_\- Good morning, Jack~! Or Henry. Or was it, Herbert? I don’t remember, and I don’t actually care!_

_Busy with the peasants, the group had not noticed the wizard’s arrival, just as they had yet to notice that their supposed ally with the three goblins in tow had something about him that set him apart from the regular folk. For all they cared, he had used the moment they were distracted, to sneak up on the group unnoticed. It was not like Zargothrax was in a hurry to correct them, either, for what kind of fool would take away his advantage – the most effective element of surprise there could be in one’s arsenal._

_And he did love an effective entrance._

_\- Sooo, this is how you get your supplies then, huh? – The wizard gestured about casually. – Robbing farmers? Some resistance, you are._

_\- These are the supplies Dundee won’t get, you moron! We take what we need, and they get to be a part of something greater than themselves! And you bloody well better get used to it. Nobody’s going to pick up the slack for you here!_

_\- Nobody will have to, - Zargothrax waved him off, theatrically so, - because I am not staying around for anyone to have to pick up anything for me. But first, I’ll make sure you leave these here folks well alone._

_Henry’s (or was it, Herbert?) laughter sounded like the wheezes of a dying dog._

_\- No offence there, mate, but there’s you and then those three filthy fleabags of yours. You’re hardly an opponent. Now run along, I am sure the cook or the quartermaster will have a job for you, boy._

_One of the goblins bared teeth and hissed at the men, only causing amusement among them._

_\- How cute. – Herbert (Henry?) gestured to his companions. – Boys, mind teach this one some manners? The peasants will still be here afterwards. You know, where I come from, you sometimes just have to beat obedience into people. I think that might be a good tradition to start._

_\- Threatening, – Zargothrax shrugged. – Should that have made me afraid?_

_He was not honoured with an answer, unless what barely passed as a battle cry counted for it, as one of the men charged. The wizard shook his head, pitying the poor fool who was now way over his head in this, before pointing the staff at him._

_The charge hit the man square in the chest and sent him tumbling a few meters backwards until he ended up on his back, wheezing, as he felt about his chest and stomach. He would be okay, Zargothrax assessed, if only bruised and black-and-blue for a while. This was not the worst that the spell could do, and the fool should be grateful that he had not been hit full-force, for he would have otherwise found his chest turned into a mesh of bone and soft tissue._

_Then there was light, bright enough for the summoner himself to wince in pain, and with it, a large dog leapt forth into being and landed softly onto the ground between its master and the men who called themselves rebels but were actually mere bandits with a rather serious case of megalomania. It was a large, handsome animal, with a black spot, like an open second maw, on its chest, and it stood tall and brave, growling, its fangs bared, in front of men who would not hesitate to chop it into pieces, were there anything to chop, for, indeed, the apparition was slightly transparent, which gave away its not entirely natural origins._

_Until this moment, the wizard had never seen a human’s eyes bulge in fear. The men stared: first at him, then the dog, then back at Zargothrax, then the dog again, then back at Zargothrax, with the understanding slowly dawning on their faces. The three peasants had huddled together, their eyes likewise forged to the stranger._

_Henry (or Herbert?) decided to take the lead and charged, a sword high above his head, grasped in two hands like a common woodcutter’s axe._

_\- Chomp!_

_Following the command, the dog run to meet the man, leapt, toppled him over and proceeded towards the rest of the group as though nothing had happened. It crushed into them, snarling, ripping and tearing at arms and legs, and hands, and everything else it could get its teeth on, and the men flailed about with their weapons, barely avoiding hitting each other in the process, for the fiend was everywhere and nowhere at the same time._

_\- Enough! – Zargothrax commanded, pointing his staff at the group and shaking it; a brisk, downwards motion._

_The apparition disappeared, incapable of dealing with the strain put upon it by the next spell that pinned it – and everybody and everything else within its range – to the ground. Curses rose, one worse than the other, as the group attempted to shake the terrifying magic off, only to discover that they were at the mercy of the wizard’s now._

_\- Anyone else has anything they’d like to share, or add? – the sorcerer inquired, lazily so, as he observed their struggles. – No? Good. Come, - he addressed the goblins next, - we’re leaving. This place holds nothing for us._

_The goblins pointed at something._

_\- Farm?_

_\- Peasants? – Zargothrax cast a look at the group of three who were busy hiding behind their cart. – If they’re not stupid, they’ll be gone before the spell wears off._

_\- You! – The Famed Leader of the Rebellion screeched, in a voice higher than he would have wanted to sound, and attempted to stand, only to be pulled back to the ground by the invisible force._

_One had to admire the sheer, dumb determination that tiny brain of his held._

_\- I warn you, I’ll get you! You and your flea-ridden pals!_

_Zargothrax rolled his eyes, before beckoning the bandit with his hand, and suddenly the man was hovering in front of him, mid-air, with a blade at his throat._

_\- If I ever see you again, - the young sorcerer flashed a grin that made the hair on the back of the man’s neck stand, - I’ll make sure that you’re permanently stuck someplace not nice. Am I being clear?_

_Herbert (Henry?) snarled something that, even if the company had been in a tavern among drunks, still would not have been meant for most ears present._

_The wizard sighed._

_Zargothrax snapped his fingers, and the body in front of him twitched, still hung mid-air. The man’s back arched, mouth open in a soundless scream, electric charges the colour red dancing around the victim. It must have felt like an eternity, for the bandit, before the wizard made a quick, dismissive motion with his hand, with that sending the man flying into the rest of the group still struggling on the ground. Henry (Herbert?) crashed into them, toppling over a couple who had managed to push themselves off the ground, and together they would have rolled down the slope adjacent to the road, had it not been for the spell to hold them in their designated area._

_\- I’ll take that as “yes, sir”, - Zargothrax smirked, before pulling the hood over his head, turning his back on the resistance members, and the peasants and giving the goblins a sign to follow him._

_So much for the famed rebellion._

***

In proud idleness, Zargothrax’s thoughts had begun shifting towards the strange dream – by now he was certain it had actually been a vision, for all signs indicated just that – which he had seen last winter. If he could figure out what just one part of it meant, he could piece the rest together and perhaps have some sort of clarity and a goal that would lead him closer to the solution. Or, at least he told himself so.

Not that this revelation made anything more prone to clearness. The wizard was certain that, once he had it figured out, it would appear so simple he would willingly slap himself across the face, for failing to notice the obvious. Until that moment, however, he might as well be treading around in darkness.

Would it have hurt the mysterious well-wisher if they gave him some kind of clear instructions? Or at the very least, a direction. “Look back and then look on” – you could do that in any place, and be just as wise about it as when you started out, and Zargothrax really hoped this part was not to be taken literally. It did not make things any easier that any part of the riddle could be answered with “goblins”. Was he really supposed to use the creatures as battle fodder, then?

Prince Angus would have.

Zargothrax growled, annoyed, cussing himself out for even entertaining that equation, before he grabbed his bag and headed outside, on his way imagining how the rug serving as a door made the satisfying sound of one slamming shut behind his back.

***

\- Is the book really that interesting?

Ch’iale stood above him, on the steps leading to the platform the previous owners of the settlement had used either as docks or for their fishing ventures, and was looking over the wizard’s shoulder, the _karrikeh’s_ hands rested on a walking stick that sported two small gems at the ends of its long T-shaped handle. Her hood was down, her silver hair in a braid over her left shoulder, and her greyish-green face bore on it an expression of empathy, and Zargothrax realized, shameful, that the goblin had been speaking to him for a while before he had actually heard and noticed her.

It was not like he had been reading, at least not that the wizard could remember. Lately, “reading” just about anything printed in a book run down to merely staring at the page open at the given time, as the meaning of letters and symbols escaped him and became just clusters of meaningless scribbles.

He was, to put it simple, tired. Life just stood still, regardless of how much he pushed against it and hoped, and wanted it to move from place it was currently stuck in. The problem was – this was not a stubborn animal to move. This was a stubborn set of circumstances that refused to budge.

And circumstances were a lot harder to influence than cattle, even for wizards.

\- Forgive me, - Zargothrax marked the page he had been _trying_ to get through for what was most likely an hour, if not more, using the knife he had recently promoted from paperweight to a bookmark, and rose from the steps, - my mind seems to be all over the place, lately.

\- No wonder, with how you keep running back and forth yourself. – The goblin shook her head, sighing as she did. – Have you found anything?

\- Nothing that would look like allies. I’m nobody’s dog to command around.

\- Well, what are you doing, going in as a peasant, then? – the _karrikeh_ chuckled. – You’re a wizard! Just be straightforward about it, and see them all at your feet!

\- It’s not that simple.

Zargothrax turned the book in his hands a couple of times, playing with the hilt of the bookmark absent-mindedly.

\- Growing up, I was told that wizards were these magnificent, powerful beings who could move the mountains at will and change the course of the history with one snap of their fingers. The truth is much less… inspiring.

\- When I went on my _ketha_ , I thought so, too, - the goblin admitted, as she manoeuvred among the baskets the beasties were busy gathering in the centre of the village, for tonight’s supply run. – The world had been so small, back home, and I thought I’d handle the one outside, too. So, you can imagine my surprise when I found it was quite big and scary, and my spells did nothing to change it.

\- But you managed.

\- I managed.

\- That’s what I’m trying to do as well. You had a family, to go back to if you failed. A tribe behind your back. If I go back to my town, people will most likely rat me out, and my parents will be in danger. If I don’t find a solution soon, I might as well go to Dundee and surrender. Let them do what they may, there’s no meaning to this kind of existence anyway.

Busy brooding, Zargothrax did not notice a stray basket and had to skip a few steps forwards in a completely undignified manner, for a wizard (it was either that, or faceplanting, even more undignified, onto the stone floor). The book fell on the ground.

While the wizard was busy saving his dignity, by pretending he had meant to do that, and fixing his robes, the _karrikeh_ picked up both the book and the unusual bookmark that had slipped from its pages. She listed through the tome without a hurry, surprisingly soon finding the right place, and returned the knife to where it had been before the unfortunate landing.

\- This knife needs sharpening.

Zargothrax forced a laughter, as he weighed the book in his hand.

\- It’s just a toy. A decoration. I took the first thing I saw. Guess all I could think of that moment was how it’d look in the prince’s chest. And then it didn’t even get that far. Probably better, that way.

\- Oh, it really is better, believe you me. If it’s useless, - Ch’iale raised one ear, which, in goblin, meant a genuine, rather than politely faked, interest, - why do you keep it?

\- A memory.

\- A useless knife and an old book, as memory?

\- Don’t goblins have anything, to remind them of their deceased?

Now that he thought of it, Zargothrax had never seen anything of that kind. All the items he had seen gathered from the deceased in the village, were usually distributed among the tribe and either used by the next owner for what the item had been intended for, or repurposed. It did not appear as if the goblinkind had anything similar to human traditions where a simple writing quill could be kept as a memory of the deceased for years to come, thus there was little surprise that the _karrikeh_ saw no point in his keeping the knife around. Book, she could understand, because humans read books and found it to be quite a nice pastime, but a dull knife was of no use whatsoever.

\- We’ve memories. – Ch’iale walked on. – If you’re worthy of it, you’ll be remembered by generations to come. We’re not good at keeping items around.

 _Memories_ , Zargothrax caught himself wondering.

There was something… something that stubbornly refused to be fully grasped, just outside his field of vision.

***

And _one more_ circle around the room. If he kept doing this for some more, Zargothrax was sure he would put a dent into the stone floor.

He had spent quite some time pacing about like this, over the course of the last few months.

The thing he was looking for still refused to be captured and evaded him, masterfully so, circling just outside his grasp, as if downright mocking him. Now, he was used to the goblins making harmless fun of each other and of him, but those were _goblins_. They could not help themselves, for such was their nature.

He was not about to sit and let _his own brain_ do the same.

The _karrikeh_ had excused herself earlier and gone back to work. The winter was approaching, and there were travel-rugs in need of repairs, and there were carpets to be woven, after they had sold the last batch to a particularly greedy travelling merchant who promised to be back for more, in the spring, if only the goblins would make some.

For all the hatred the beasties got from humans, the humans never refused a pretty carpet, regardless of its origins.

_Why does this remind me of something?_

A few more circles around the room later, Zargothrax finally collapsed into the stone-cut chair and, with the groan of a tired man, hid his face in hands.

_This is ridiculous._

If only there was something. Something that the prince and his lackeys did not know about. Something he could put against them and the hammer, and have even the faintest hope that he would come out as the winner.

If only he had an idea about what exactly had been salvaged from the Library and fallen into McFife’s hands, Zargothrax could plan his next move accordingly.

Or he could simply grab a host of demons (it mattered very little that his knowledge in that plane was shabby at best) and undead and march them to Dundee, and tear the city down to its base. Burn and kill, and slaughter, just like _they_ had done.

To think how fast things changed. One moment, he was in his teacher’s study, and it was a bright day outside with no sign of how bad things were going to get in just a few hours, and the next moment, he was in his teacher’s study and beheld blood pooling on the floor, and it was night, and the city was alit with flames of war.

He did not like revisiting these memories, normally. The nightmares that stemmed from them were enough to put him off. But today, today they had become akin to annoying mosquitoes on a summer day, and thus, he was forced to go back and relive the day.

_To look back._

***

Ch’iale raised her head and beheld the young sorcerer for a moment, before she sighed and returned to her work, the goblin’s long, clawed fingers tying one knot after another in the carpet. It was not exactly a look of disapproval, but felt just as bad, to the one on the receiving end.

Zargothrax suddenly felt like a small, dumb child.

\- Cowdenbeath?

One of the _karrikeh’s_ ears twitched. 

– What is there to have at Cowdenbeath?

\- I’ll see when I get there, - the wizard replied, as he paced about the room. – I remembered this morning, that my teacher told me about a hermit who lived there a hundred years ago. If I could find his dwellings…

\- I know not much about humans, but I don’t think you live that long?

\- We don’t. What I mean is there might be something there that can help us. Yes, that is probably what the cat spoke about, - Zargothrax added, to himself, before he continued out loud. – I doubt any of his family members came by, looking for whatever he might have left. If there is something that might yet help me, I have to find it.

\- And you want to find… what, exactly?

The goblin appeared ever the sceptic about this venture, but, ultimately, it was up to Zargothrax, not her, to decide whether or not he wanted to embark on this journey. It did, nonetheless, seem like a good idea to make sure he actually knew what he was doing, first.

Not even goblins run head-straight into something that had the potential to end in a catastrophe, and this venture had one written all over it. Ch’iale had no idea what exactly had prompted this sudden change in plans, aside from the fiascos suffered in the process of trying to establish alliances, or, at the very least, long-lasting contacts with the rebellion, and, having come to think of the wizard as one of their own, she would rather he first considered what he was about to do and whether it was worth the risk.

\- Documents, scrolls, books… I don’t know. My teacher said the man had known of a discipline in magic that is no longer taught, because it was far too difficult to learn, even for the magisters. If I could find anything of that kind… maybe I’ll even have a chance to walk away alive after the battle.

\- You are brash, and a scatterbrain, and right now you are relying on an old story to be true, - Ch’iale shook her head, - but I do trust you in walking away alive after a battle.

\- That’s a first, that I hear something like that! My friends always told me I’d be the first one to perish. Well, okay, that was mostly Martha, but still: ouch!

\- You see? There it is. – The _karrikeh_ grinned, even though she sat with her back to the wizard and he saw none of that. – We hurt, but we get better.

\- Hm? – In his mind, Zargothrax had already begun mapping out a route, to make sure he stayed well away from any large settlements that could have the regular army or the Knights of Crail stationed there. Local militia, made up of volunteers from among the peasants, he considered of no big problem, or danger, for himself; those people normally did not see anything that did not concern theirs and their neighbours’ livelihoods. The king’s men and the knights, however, were on the lookout specifically for anything concerning _wizards_ , and Zargothrax was not entirely sure they did not have something that helped them distinguish his colleagues from the crowd.

After all, the Library had had what was now a concerning amount of information on it.

He reckoned he would be fine if he kept away from local centres of civilization. Besides, hermits did not like crowds, by default. That was why they were _hermits_.

And he also did not trust his ability to be among soldiers or knights and not try to burn them where they stood, in the slightest.

Ch’iale shook her head.

\- That’s what I’m talking of. Scatterbrain. And what will you do if there is nothing there?

\- I don’t know.

Zargothrax folded his arms on chest and leant against the wall.

\- I suppose I’ll have two options, in that case. I can go with the resistance, whatever they might be doing, or I can raise some undead things and march them to Dundee. I’m not about to surrender.

\- Or you can let them go.

Ch’iale run her fingers along the finished part of the carpet.

\- Whom? – the wizard snarled. – The prince and his lap dogs?

\- Your friends. You poison yourself. From inside. Not good. Rest.

\- _Rest!_ – Zargothrax spat the word, like he would a piece of rotten apple. - I will rest, yes, _once the prince is dead_. I won’t… I _can’t_ allow him to go unpunished. Those were… _fuck…_ those were so many lives! – he collapsed into a chair. – Those were all somebody’s friends, parents, children! Can’t let that go unpunished!

\- I am not saying it should. I am saying that you are killing yourself, slowly, if you keep this up.

\- And I’ll gladly take the prince with me!

For a moment, Ch’iale was silent, working on the carpet and pondering on what the wizard had said.

\- I can give you a scout, to make sure there are no nasty surprises on the way, - she finally offered and, with that, closed the previous topic that was clearly too unpleasant for the both of them.

\- I appreciate your offer, _karrikeh_ , - Zargothrax had gathered himself, as much as it was possible, and stood, to give her a polite bow, - but I cannot ask for more than what you have already done for me. I shall return as soon as possible. If not, I shall be in contact.

\- And don’t forget, - the goblin stood as well, walked up to him and took the wizard’s hand in hers, like a caring, kind grandmother, - the offer still stands. If there is nothing there, or things go wrong, come back. We’ll gladly do whatever is in our power, to help you.

***

The figure circled the room, stopped, folded its arms on chest, then proceeded to walk, only to stop again and clutch its forehead for a moment.

\- Why aren’t the Questlords gone in this world? What’s different?

The book gave no answer.

\- A pocket universe, then?

No answer.

\- A backup of another world?

Nothing.

\- Chaos Wizards?

Nothing.

\- Kor-Virliath?

Nothing.

A deep sigh.

Too much to hope for, that the book would be useful.

Nobody ever gave clear instructions. Best case, they tossed a hint, like a bone to a stray dog.

_Tired of being the stray dog._

**Author's Note:**

> And so, finally he's off to Cowdenbeath (took him long enough), and in the ''figure's'' place I'd stop asking dumb questions and seriously consider moving houses, because they're about to get a visitor they absolutely didn't ask for.


End file.
